Battlefield
by OzGeek
Summary: Centered around Gibbs' remorse when McGee is injured in a car accident. Written for a series of livejournal challenge one chapter per challenge. Sorry about the Chpt 6 false alarm. All finished chapter 6 is up.
1. Memory

**This story was written for a series of live journal challeges, each chapter is a new challenge with a new key word which I have used as the title**

**Title: Battlefield  
****Author: ozgeek40  
****Rating: PG  
****Spoiler: none  
****Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of these characters otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfics.  
****Words: 1330  
****Summary: My first challenge. A car accident evokes painful memories for Gibbs**.

* * *

"McGee, in the back."

McGee eyed Gibbs silently, deciding whether it was worth a fight.

"Sorry, Probie," Tony added. "When it comes to a choice between your butt and Ziva's butt: she just takes up less real estate."

"So you are saying McGee has 'balma butt'?" Ziva clarified, climbing into the front seat.

"No, I'm saying…just get in the back, Probie."

McGee heaved a resigned sigh and clambered into the back of the van. Making his way to the front, he opened the access window.

"Just gives thanks Ziva isn't driving," called Gibbs as they lurched forward, throwing McGee halfway back down the van again.

Struggling against link-simulation magnitude G-forces, McGee staggered his way to the front of the van again. "Thanks," he managed through gritted teeth.

"Only 20 more miles to go," Tony informed him cheerfully.

Traffic moved at a frantic pace with small suicidal vehicles darting across the van's nose. Gibbs invoked a few choice words indicative of many years in the armed forces even managing to raise Ziva's eyebrows occasionally.

Then the inevitable happened: a small car cut in too close. Gibbs slammed on the brakes and a tailgating truck slammed into their rear end. The resulting harsh metallic thud was accompanied by the deafening sound of equipment thundering to the floor in the back of the van. Instinctively, both Tony and Gibbs shot out a protective arm in Ziva's direction as they froze in time.

Nobody spoke in the eerie silence that followed until someone knocked on Gibbs' window. "You ok in there?"

Gibbs looked up at the anxious face outside. "Ah, yep, I think so." He looked across the seat where his arm still overlapped with Tony's forming a safety barrier for Ziva. "DiNozzo? David?"

He was met by two shocked faces.

Tony was the first to recover, slowly lowering his arm. "Yeah, Boss. Fine. Ziva?"

"Ah, yes. I appear to be uninjured."

"Good," said Gibbs slowly.

The three of them watched in silence as people tried to pry open the compressed front doors.

It was only when Gibbs' door unwillingly gave way that something clicked in Tony's brain. He thudded his hand against the wall behind him. "McGee?"

No response. Two more thuds, just to be sure. "McGee?"

He exchanged urgent glances with Gibbs who leapt out and raced to the rear door, trailing a sea of people inquiring about his welfare. Instead of a rear door, however, he met the crushed front of a large truck which had coalesced with the van. "Get this thing out of here," he yelled.

Meanwhile, Tony and Ziva were frantically scrabbling for the little access window. The meagre external light filtering through the gap was insufficient to illuminate the rear section to any useful degree.

Gibbs appeared again, poking his head into the front seat. "Can you see him?"

"Too dark," said Tony breathlessly. "McGee!"

"Where's the flashlight?" asked Ziva

"In the back of the freaking van," Tony ran an anxious hand through his hair.

Gibbs pulled back. "Anyone got a flashlight?" he called to the audience of onlookers.

In less than a minute he had three. It didn't take long to figure out the little window was not large enough to encompass three flashlights and three heads.

"OK," Gibbs commanded. "You two: a flashlight either side, I'll look in."

Ziva and Tony nodded and aimed their lights. Gibbs took a deep breath and peered inside.

Even with two flashlights, Gibbs' eyes needed time to adjust to the light levels. Then the scene came into focus like a remote sensing image of some underwater shipwreck. He recognised pieces of equipment scattered and broken across the floor and then: a single human leg. "Ziva: a little to the right."

As the beam slowly swept the scene a large form swam into view. McGee was lying across the van, his face turned towards his voyeurs. One arm seemed un-naturally bent and something that looked like a stream of blood ran down his forehead.

Flashbacks of wounded soldiers assaulted Gibb's as he struggled to determine if the body was indeed breathing. "McGee," he called firmly.

Nothing.

Gibbs went into overdrive, ejecting from the front seat and out into the crowd. "Where's the goddam tow-truck," he yelled.

"There, boss." Tony was at his side pointing towards a large vehicle reversing in their direction.

"I need an ambulance too," Gibbs cried.

"On its way," came a distant reply.

Gibbs was already with the tow-truck driver. "I've got an injured man trapped in the back," he yelled. The word 'body' crossed his mind but he stamped it back.

"Gotcha."

Even with Gibbs' urgings, the time taken to hitch up the offending truck and haul it from the van seemed impossibly long. The moment there was a man's-width between the two vehicles, the three agents descended; grabbing at the tortured metal and pulling with all their strength. Slowly, the door squealed open and the dawning light revealed a picture of utter devastation, far worse than suggested by the peep-hole view.

McGee lay motionless draped over a pile of rubble in a manner reminiscent of a Salvador Dali expose. One arm was clearly broken lying laxly aside McGee's body, the bloody gash on his forehead had ceased to flow but there was an enormous egg-shaped purpled-edged lump growing steadily next to it. Multiple moist red stains adorned his body where blood from hidden injuries had seeped through clothing.

Gibbs climbed in and did what he had been dreading: felt for a pulse. At first he found none but, calming himself, he finally detected a faint trickle of life. As the relief flooded over him, he realised the beat was stronger than he had first judged and he cursed himself for panicking.

"McGee," he tried, touching the side of the stony face before him.

He turned to Tony: "where are the EMTs?"

"Just coming, Boss," Tony replied from the door.

Gibbs turned back and met a pair of glazed, non-comprehending eyes. "McGee?"

The slow, elongated blinks told him he was too early: he waited and watched as the fog lifted. "Tim?"

"Boss?"

It was no more than a whisper but it told him McGee was alive and coherent.

"Just lie still," said Gibbs quietly. "You might have a spinal injury."

Someone was trying to push through Gibbs to get to his patient but he did not move until the EMT actually spoke.

"Excuse me sir, we need to help him."

Gibbs looked up into the clear, serious eyes of an expert and yielded his ground. "We'll be right here, McGee."

* * *

The three agents stood in revered silence as McGee was lifted from the back of the van, bound mummy-like to the stretcher. No one dared breathe lest it upset the delicate operation.

When McGee was secured in the ambulance, Gibbs crawled in, shutting the door behind him.

"Sir," the EMT started. One glare from Gibbs and he turned to the driver, "let's roll."

Gibbs hated the feeling: the helplessness invaded him just as it had so many times before on the battle field. All he could do was to be there for his man.

"Boss?" McGee rasped.

"It would be better if he doesn't talk," cautioned the EMT.

"Tell him, not me," Gibbs shot back angrily. No one was going to treat his man like a corpse.

He turned his attention to McGee. "You'll be fine." He could feel the tears stinging his eyes: the last person he had comforted with those words never saw the outside of the ambulance again.

As the ambulance made its way through the busy early-evening traffic, Gibbs smiled at McGee and took his hand, ignoring the deafening boom of mortar fire echoing through his memory. "You'll be fine."


	2. Fire

**Battlefield – chapter 2: Fire**

Even more than caffeine, Gibbs needed a cigarette. He could almost smell the warm phosphorus scent wafting from the freshly lit match head and taste that first sweet draught. Smoking: a legacy of the hurry-up-and-wait world of war where nobody waited without a cigarette in their mouth. The armed forces were not an occupational health and safety stronghold. It was difficult to convince a Marine platoon staked out on the front line awaiting their next melee, that the main factor in shortening their lifespan was the cigarettes.

Now McGee was in surgery, Ziva and Tony were fending off investigators back at the crash site and Gibbs was …..in purgatory: sitting in the barren hospital corridor and waiting. He examined the back of his gnarled, weathered hands. They were shaking: he needed more coffee. He stood up into an on coming doctor.

"You Gibbs?"

"Yeah."

"Your man's in recovery."

"And?"

The doctor ran an exhausted hand through his hair. "He's skirted back injury but his neck took a bit of damage. One of his ribs punctured a lung but we've got that under control. We've splinted the arm and tied off every bleeder we can find. He's lost a lot of blood, there's probably going to be concussion..." he petered out as he caught Gibb's blank expression. He changed tack. "Next twenty-four hours are critical; we'll know more after that."

"Why couldn't you just say that?" Gibbs hand rose menacingly behind the doctor's head but he was distracted by a familiar voice interrogating an orderly on the technical aspects of performing surgery.

He looked around the doctor and caught sight of a bed being wheeled down the corridor. Barely recognisable under a mound of bandages and sheets was McGee, talking as if his life depended on it. Under similar circumstances, Tony would have been joking or flirting with the nurses but not McGee. His attempt to convince the world and himself that he was fine manifested itself as data flow and analysis – asking questions, making deductions. All at a pace that would make Abby's head spin.

Gibbs waited for the bed to pass then followed it down the corridor, leaving the doctor in his wake. The nurse stopped him at the room's door. "Just give us a minute."

Then the door opened and Gibbs stuck his head in. The smell was the first thing that hit him –the pretence that all was clean and healthy. Then the ominous hum of electrical equipment coupled with the unnerving silence of McGee's unnatural sleep. He wondered lightly how they had managed to shut him up so conclusively so abruptly, and if he could get some for DiNozzo.

McGee's injuries were well hidden by the criss-cross pattern of bandages that covered ribs and chest. The swelling on his forehead seemed smaller than he last remembered and the gash now sported a neat hedge of stitches. The face, however, was grey and puffy: a reminder that all was not well.

Gibbs eased himself into the single chair and ran his eyes down the full length of the bed. Somehow he had forgotten how large McGee was. In the early days, he was like a naive child rattling about in a man's body, as loosely fitting as his clothes. Over time, he had grown into himself and suddenly, almost overnight, he was a mature agent.

Regardless of popular opinion, it was not the double degree or computing expertise that had convinced Gibbs to include McGee in his team: it was his tenacious character. Gibbs had seen a young man who would not back down. Sure he would stammer and blink obsessively under stress but even when he himself was at McGee's throat during the dark Ari times, he did what had to be done, regardless of personal consequences. McGee was man of conviction, a man with fire in his soul. It was that passion and determination that would see him through the next twenty-four hours.

Gibbs looked up suddenly as the door opened and Ziva and Tony walked in. There was an awkward silence which he initially took as accusatory until he realised it was more complicity. They too felt the guilt. "He'll be OK," Gibbs assured them.

The tension melted and Tony's face broke into its native grin. "Of course he will: it's Probie!"

Gibbs smiled gruffly. "What took you so long?"

"It took me a while to convince Leon that the accident was not my fault," Ziva explained.

"Leon?"

"The tow-truck driver, Boss," Tony cut in. "They're on first name terms, probably exchange Christmas cards."

Ziva punched him on the shoulder.

"Hanukah cards?"

Gibbs felt himself relax: any banter was a good sign. The team was closing up around the gaping wound.

Then the door opened again and he stiffened abruptly as he met Abby's steely glare. He rose from his chair as the guilt bit deep. In all the years he'd know her there was only one person she had immediately and unreservedly welcomed into her laboratory playground: McGee. They had fallen into step the moment they met, with no apparent effort on either part. Sure they had slept together for a short while but Abby's bedfellows were as fluid as Gibbs' wives, no Abby and McGee shared a special bond: two completely opposite halves of the same entity.

McGee would forgive them all in a heartbeat, Abby's forgiveness was not so easily won.

Gibbs ached as Abby sought no comforting hug, just information. "What happened?"

"Car accident, no one saw it coming."

They watched in silence as Abby took in the scene. She seemed overwhelmed by the severity of the situation. A couple of faltering steps and she turned tearfully to Gibbs. "He's going to be OK, right?"

"Yeah."

She turned to him and buried her head in his shoulder. Gibbs held tight. She needed him and he needed to be needed. Abby pulled away took up vigil with Tony and Ziva.

Gibbs suddenly felt old and out of place. "I'm going for some fresh air," he announced gruffly.

* * *

On the bench outside the hospital main building, Gibbs savoured the sweet tobacco scent of the unlit donated cigarette and stroked the smooth fresh paper between his fingers. He lit the match and held it to the cigarette until it absorbed the flame. Then he watched the fire as it burned brightly down the match to the tips of his fingers. Twenty-four hours to wait, at least he was waiting in style.

* * *

_Author: Note: I do not condone smoking in any way: it killed my father and even the merest hint of passive smoke is enough to trigger my son's asthma. BUT there really is no point in lecturing those in the armed forces. Believe me._


	3. Ice

**Battlefield – chapter 3 Ice**

A silent line down one side of the bed: Tony at the head, then Ziva and finally Gibbs. In some bizarre way, they constituted McGee's family – a thought that caused Gibbs a momentary guilty pang. He really should contact McGee's actual family. The medical staff had enquired and he had told them the truth: he would take care of it. And he would: eventually.

The problem was that if people with DNA similar to McGee arrived then they, his pseudo family, would be forced to give up their guardian rights. Besides, he rationalised, nobody would know anything for certain until McGee woke so there was no point in worrying his blood relatives right now. It was the same line of reasoning he had used to select Abby to buy supplies: she was innately closer to McGee than the rest of them, so she had been usurped. Jealousy? Perhaps. More, the team needed time together without unfair competition.

He looked over at Tony dozing in his chair. Tony who routinely cobbled together a makeshift family from anything he had handy: sporting teams, frat buddies and workmates. It didn't matter who they were, Tony had a role for everyone; even McGee. He would have done well in the forces. There was no question in Gibbs' mind that it was McGee who had let Tony in and not the other way around. McGee had accepted the role of support to Tony's lead. McGee had a lot of emotional resilience thanks to the fallback of a supporting family. He probably didn't realise the power he had over Tony. The smallest rejection might have been devastating.

McGee stirred and Tony sat bolt upright. Looking at the two of them now, the dynamic had not changed all that much. Tony had prime position, ready the instant McGee woke. He, more that any of them, needed forgiveness.

McGee's eyes fluttered open as far as they could through swollen lids and he stared out uncomprehendingly.

"Probie?"

Gibbs smiled at Tony's opening line – McGee would have panicked if Tony had called him anything else.

"You're in the hospital: you're going to be fine."

McGee blinked slowly for a full minute and then gradually turned his head towards Tony's voice.

"You're gonna be fine," Tony repeated. "We're all here. Well Abby's gone for food but she'll be back. Everyone else is here. You're going to be fine."

"Tony," McGee rasped weakly.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep telling me I'm gong to be fine?"

"Because you are."

McGee regarded him steadily then his eyes slid across to Ziva; one person in the room who would tell him the truth. Gibbs admired his strength: McGee knew that if he was going to die, Ziva would not only tell him but quote him an estimated time.

"What happened?"

"Car accident in the van," Ziva began efficiently. "You were in the back. It took us a while to reach you."

Gibbs saw Tony lower his eyes – it had taken them a while to even remember McGee's existence. A fact even madam iceberg declined to acknowledge.

"You have a broken arm, probable concussion, some neck damage and a number of internal injuries including a lung which is why your breathing is shallow. You lost a lot of blood but you've had a transfusion."

Tony let out a sigh and sank back in his chair in the mistaken belief that her summation had concluded. In reality, Ziva was reaching for McGee's chart.

"When you first arrived, you were responsive to pain but confused – unable to recall the day or events surrounding the accident," she read succinctly. "Your condition deteriorated until you were unresponsive to any stimuli. Then we go to surgical notes." She flipped over to the next page. "Your blood pressure and body temperature dropped dangerously low during the operation and you were in post-operative care for longer than expected. You became lucid though apparently a little frantic."

The corner of Gibbs' mouth twitched a little. When this was all over, he was going to tell McGee just how frantic.

Ziva replaced the chart and resumed her seat facing McGee directly. "When you came out around midnight, the doctor said the next 24 hours were critical. It's been 8 hours since and this is the first time you have regained consciousness. If you continue to maintain this improvement, you should make a full recovery but should you suffer any complications – say for example internal haemorrhaging from the operation or just from something they missed, then you should be dead before nightfall." She graced him with a tight smile of satisfaction for a job well done.

Gibbs cringed but McGee stayed rock steady digesting the information.

Slowly McGee's eyes travelled back to Tony. "I'm going to be fine, Tony," he rasped.

"Told you."

McGee's eye's slide shut again.

For a moment it seemed like the whole event never took place. Then suddenly Tony exploded at Ziva.

"What were you thinking telling him that?"

"He asked me."

"You didn't have to give him all the details."

"You are missing the point: he asked ME the question. Not you, not Gibbs: me."

"Cold," Tony surmised.

"Like ice." Ziva agreed.


	4. A word that sounds like pawn

_The challenge word this time was porn. Don't worry, this chapter is much tamer than you'd expect. I still upped the ratings because of the use of the word 'porn'_.

* * *

Gibbs ran his eyes down the length of the hospital bed. McGee's blood pressure had fallen over the course of the day. Not drastically so, just enough for the medical staff to toss up between internal bleeding and shock. The net result was the bed had been tilted 20 degrees from horizontal and stream of hassled professionals kept bustling in every hour to check for deterioration in his condition.

McGee himself was beginning to show signs of severe boredom now that they had eased up on some of his pain medication. Gibbs had sent Tony and Ziva home to prepare for a later shift, but Abby had stayed maintaining if anyone could get McGee's blood pressure up, it was her.

"You know what soldiers do in the field when they're bored McGee?" Abby was saying.

"Ummm, shoot things?"

"No…I'll give you a hint: it's the most popular use of the internet today."

"They write fanfics?"

"Porn, McGee," said Abby happily. She turned to Gibbs. "Back me up here."

Gibbs blinked at her expressionlessly and observed McGee's blood pressure rising exponentially.

"So what do you fancy McGee: hetro, homo, bestiality?" She swooped in on him whispering; "all of the above?"

McGee's eyes flitted guiltily to Gibbs. "Please Abs," he begged.

"Com'on, McGee," she chastised. "You know the quality of hinky material I can supply."

McGee was flustering. Gibbs checked his watch; they still had 20 minutes before the next scheduled blood pressure reading. If McGee did have internal bleeding, he should start spurting out a major orifice fairly soon.

Abby stood resolutely. "I'll collect you a smorgasbord from Tony; he keeps some in the middle drawer of his filing cabinet."

"Does he know that you know?" asked Gibbs.

"Does he know that you know?" Abby shot back.

Gibbs blessed her with an inscrutable smile designed to unnerve her. It worked.

Brow furrowed, Abby turned her attention back to McGee. "Maybe I'll just get you something from my private collection," she said thoughtfully rising from her seat.

"Unless you would care to contribute?" she offered Gibbs as she passed by.

A smile tugged at Gibbs' lips but he said nothing.

Then the door closed and they were alone.

"I'm sorry boss," McGee started.

"Don't apologise."

"But…"

"You expecting a ticket in the mail, McGee?"

"Ahhh, no."

"In what way is any of this your fault?"

"It's just, well, I feel like I'm putting everyone out."

"What, you're not healing fast enough?"

Gibbs allowed McGee a moment to bath in uncertainty before slowly rising from his chair and making his way to the head of the bed. Acutely aware of McGee tracking his every move, he settled into Abby's vacated seat. Gibbs looked up into the young man's eyes. "McGee," he began softly. "We put you in a position of danger." He paused deciding the best way to phrase the line he never wanted to say. "I'm sorry."

"Boss?"

But the time for talking was over. Slowly Gibbs reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a glossy magazine. "Abby doesn't know about this," he confided, unfolding the shiny paper. The aroma of fresh ink stained the room. "See that it stays that way."

McGee swallowed hard but accepted the offering. Gibbs watched as he cautiously examined the cover and hesitantly opened the first page.

"Wow, she's ah…well built," McGee began uncertainly.

"That she is," Gibbs chuckled, easing into a more comfortable position.

As McGee flicked through the pages, Gibbs watched his pupils dilate and his breathing rate steadily increase: if only the staff were here to take some measurements now. As McGee arrived at his favourite page, Gibbs leant forward and said conspiratorially: "I've tried that."

McGee swallowed nervously. "Did it, ah, work?"

"Oh yeah."

McGee turned another page and his eyes opened wide as the centrefold photo was revealed. At first he turned his head slightly but then he gave up and turned the entire magazine ninety-degrees in true centrefold-viewing fashion. "She's beautiful," he whispered quietly.

Gibbs craned his head around to share the image. "You've got good taste, McGee."

McGee lingered over the image for a while and then slowly turned the page to savour the next photo.

Gibbs smiled. He would never have guessed that he and McGee would have so much in common. American Boat Builders had a new reader.


	5. Two worlds

**Battlefield – chapter 5 – a little bit of crackfic.**

This challenge was as follows:

_Your new challenge is: CRACK!FIC/MELODRAMAConsider this your excuse to trop out those ridiculous, bizarre scenarios that you were always a little to embarrassed to write, the crossovers that make no sense at all, and the dramatic wailing and gnashing of teeth (that's the melodrama part). Nothing is too strange, too unlikely, or too OOC for this challenge! Go wild! Have fun! Consider this an amnesty from having to Make It Believably. grins_

This was my attempt to answer the challenge AND keep the story in tone.

* * *

Gibbs was worried. For some inexplicable reason, McGee had come down with a raging fever which was, thus far, unresponsive to antibiotics.

The director stood at his side, equally perturbed though he wasn't sure if she was concerned for McGee himself or about the extra paperwork his death would necessitate.

Tony sat in a chair on the other side of McGee's bed staring out into space. Although ordered to stay away, he maintained he couldn't sleep anyway so he might as well come back. Gibbs was unsure if that were really true or if Tony actually had a vested interest in the rubber-lipped female doctor who roamed the lower corridors.

He took a moment to debate whether her lips were a natural curse or the result of an over-enthusiastic collagen regime. In either case, it was hard to shake the impression that she was a bizarre Cheshire cat who would fade away just leaving an enormous pair of fat lips. Jen sure was keeping an eye on her, though. Maybe she was jealous.

The door slowly opened to reveal McGee's publisher. In a less cynical moment, he might have thought she had come out of genuine concern: no, perhaps not even then. She was clearly motivated only by the need to protect her investment. Gibbs watched as she slunk in, letting the door float closed gently behind her.

"How is he doing?" she asked.

Gibbs declined to grace her with actual eye contact. "He has a raging fever and they don't know why."

"He'll be OK, though?"

Gibbs could stand it no more. He turned to her abruptly. "He'll meet his deadline."

"Jethro!" Jen seemed shocked at his implication.

"That's all I needed to know," Ms Crawshaw replied. There was a refreshing honesty about her that made Gibbs pine for a study nine-iron in his hands.

Another creak of the door and Gibbs was surprised to see Lt. Col. Hollis. Mann peek inside.

"I thought I might find you here," she said to him, eyeing the array of woman already in the room. Maintaining eye contact with Gibbs, she sidled along the wall to sit next to Tony. "How's he doing?"

Gibbs top lipped twitched in the echo of a smile: the contrast between a genuine and ingenuine question was never so stark. "We've got to beat this fever," he said flatly.

As if on cue, McGee's eyelids parted to reveal two glassy bloodshot eyes. At first he stared uncomprehendingly at Gibbs, the director and his publisher and then the fog began to lift. Rather than exhibit recognition however, McGee became agitated, his breathing uneven and rapid as he studied them each in turn. Flinging his head to the other side of the bed, he sized up Tony frowning in confusion. Then his eyes fell upon Hollis Man and a full panic attack took over. McGee began thrashing around the bed, desperately trying to transmit some message to them.

Gibbs stepped forward and took him firmly by the shoulders, feeling the sweat leaching through the rough cotton hospital gown. "You're OK, McGee," he said quietly.

He watched as McGee focused on him. At first McGee looked bewildered, then he smiled a relieved smile, relaxed and sank back into oblivion with a sigh.

* * *

Every single part of McGee ached. Disorientated, he forced his eyelids open and let his eyes roam over the strange assortment of creatures surrounding his bed. Slowly they took on human form. He was sure he recognised those three standing together looking down on him. Now he had it: Chicago Hope! He must be really sick if three Chicago Hope doctors were standing there. He strained his brain to remember what the formula was for dying on that show. Did most of them make it? Was it a season finale? He couldn't remember.

He swung his head to the other side of the bed and caught sight of the guy in the wheelchair from Dark Angel. He wished he'd paid more attention to his name but in truth he had spent most of that short lived series ogling Jessica Alba. Hold on – didn't they get engaged? Maybe she was here. Oh, that's right; she became invisible soon after meeting that Welsh guy from Hornblower and they'd called off the whole thing.

Next to wheelchair guy was another woman – his heart pounded as he recognised her: the Borg Queen! She was here to assimilate them all! He had to tell the others. How could there possibly be a Chicago Hope, Dark Angel, Star Trek cross over? It would never rate. He tried desperately to warn them but the mind meld must have already begun: he had lost the ability to speak.

Then someone had him by the shoulders. Who was it? Ted Bundy? The fiancée from Freaky Friday? No, it was that guy who married Mindy. He'd always loved Mindy. He was loosing his grip on reality, such as it was, again. It all became too hard and McGee's eyes slid shut again.


	6. Sickness and Health

**Title: Battlefield chapter6 - Sickness and health**

_Author: ozgeek40  
Rating: PG  
Challenge: Sickness and health  
Characters: Gibbs, McGee, Tony, Hollis Mann  
Spoiler: none  
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of these characters otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfics. Words:1013  
Summary: A final chapter to Battlefield. Each chapter is an answer to challenge: 'memory', 'fire','ice', 'porn', 'cracfic' and now finally 'sickness and health'. Story centers around Gibbs' response when McGee is injured during a car crash._

* * *

The sun was rising again. Gibbs had lost track of how many sunrises he'd watched from his hospital bedside chair. It was like he and McGee were trapped in some Groundhog Day recreation with everything but the Sonny and Cher music. He shifted slightly in his seat, a feat rendered more difficult as the days passed and the chair moulded more to his contours.

Gibbs could only just remember a time when he hadn't been in the hospital grounds. He had realised he was becoming too comfortable with the place when he found himself absent-mindedly planning the rails of McGee's bed.

The man in McGee's bed was a shadow of his former agent: a wire frame with the meat sucked from it. The once magnificent bruises had faded to a dull sepia tone and were slowly draining towards the nearest gland designed for such a duty. The large scar across his forehead was marked only by a rather anti-climatic single bandaid. His arm was still in a caste but it was so graffiti-laden, mainly with skulls, crosses and various voodoo symbols, that it had long ceased to look functional and was fast becoming a fine example of modern art.

"Boss?"

Another morning ritual began.

"Yes, McGee."

"Can I go home?"

Gibbs pressed his lips together in a grim smile. McGee had asked the same question the last three days but after each visit, the doctor had refused him with a sad shake of his head.

"I'm much better, boss."

Gibbs considered his statement. Barely recognisable as the strong young man he once knew, McGee was hovering somewhere between the sickest healthy person and the healthiest sick person he had ever seen. Certainly if McGee had turned up to work looking as he did now, they would have rushed him off to hospital but in comparison to where he had started his journey, he looked positively robust.

"We'll see what the doctor says," Gibbs replied.

"Yep."

Slowly McGee began the painstaking task of rolling out of bed. Reaching the floor, he grasped for his cane with his good hand and slowly shuffled his way to the bathroom. Gibbs had a sudden insight into McGee as an old man: if he ever made it that far.

He heard the shower start and his ears strained. McGee was desperate to prove himself fully capacitated but there was a serious danger he would overdo it. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when McGee reappeared a few minutes later.

"They left breakfast about half an hour ago," said Gibbs nodding to the tray.

"You want some, Boss?"

"Got mine." Gibbs held up his coffee – Tony had brought in a supply.

McGee smiled and hobbled carefully back to his bed. Gibbs watched in slight bemusement as McGee investigated the contents of his breakfast tray. He was getting more comfortable with their morning routine than he had been with some of his ex-wives.

The doctor arrived just as McGee was finishing up and repeated the familiar checkups: same measurements, same old scars and the same sore spots. McGee endured it all in sullen silence, Finally the doctor picked up the chart, read the details and added his own annotations.

"How'd you feel about going home today?" he said expressionlessly.

There was a pause.

"Are you kidding me?" McGee's voice was more disbelieving than excited.

"Nope." The doctor looked up at him. "I think you can go."

McGee turned to stare at Gibbs, unbridled joy in his eyes. Gibbs smiled back: the nightmare was finally over.

"Get your things and the nurse at reception will discharge you," the doctor concluded, replacing the chart and calmly walking out as if nothing remarkable had happened.

McGee moved with a jerky excitement, hastily gathering the clothing that had sat idly in his bedside cupboard for too long and shuffled back to the bathroom.

As the door closed, Gibbs hoisted himself out of the chair he had long since begun to think of as his own and made some calls.

* * *

The corridor was alive with fond farewells as they made their way slowly through well wishers. McGee moved carefully, trying to smile but clearly focusing his energies on mastering each step without faltering. Gibbs followed quietly behind, a backpack on each shoulder.

Then they were outside the building and among the everyday people of the world who acted as if nothing unusual had just taken place.

A car horn beeped twice. "Hey, Probie!"

Tony was waiting at the curb, his trunk already open. McGee smiled and began the long trip to the car, his energy reserves already slipping noticeably. Gibbs strode passed him and dumped his backpack in the open trunk.

"Hey, Boss," Tony protest, "that's where McGee's riding."

"Ha, ha," McGee's response was suitably sarcastic but slightly distracted as he analysed the car entrance determining the easiest way to manoeuvre his awkward body into the car.

"Here." Tony was at his side, holding him under one arm, taking his weight, joining in the dance until McGee was securely seated. Then he took the cane and threw it into the trunk.

"See you back at work Boss," Tony called back over his shoulder without even a glance as he bounded to the drivers seat.

Gibbs watched as the car drove away, barely acknowledging Hollis drawing her car up alongside him. It was always hard when they didn't need you anymore, when they found their own company and support. It was a sign of good leadership that his people didn't feel a need to say 'thank you'. They expected him to be there, and he was: always. Sometime tomorrow or maybe next week, whenever the excitement of freedom had subsided, McGee would appear, as they all did eventually, and thank him for his efforts but for now, his job was done.

It was a thankless and fulfilling task all at once. In some ways like a parent child relation, in others like a marriage: to be there in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live.

--END--


End file.
